Escamoteurettes came into the world on October 1, 2004. Weblogging was fairly young and magic blogging was downright embryonic. I began writing this thing because it was easier than than finding an old priest and a young priest.
“The power of Max compells you. The power of Max compells you…”
(Sorry. That was borderline inappropriate. Just save me a seat if you get there before me.)
Over the last few days I read the archives start to finish. Wow. This blog would fill a book. (Not that it should, just that it could.) I covered so much ground — and all from my little, insignificant point of view. That I had any readers at all was miraculous to me. That the stats still show a healthy level of activity, especially considering the anemic post count over the last year or so, is truly ponderous. Appreciated, for sure, but ponderous.
And that leads me to this minor update.
Over the last year I’ve received a heartwarming number of emails asking about the blog and why there aren’t new posts. (I also continue to receive an alarming number of emails that, to be frank, have begun to trouble me. My mental state is in pretty good shape, I don’t need pain killers or drugs to help me sleep, I don’t need to refinance my home or any more credit cards, and my Special Purpose is in pretty good shape. But those emails still offer to help.)
Simply put, I’ve said most of what I can and want to say on a multitude of topics and, in some cases, said it more than once. Any arrogance I may have hosted in my mind surely didn’t spill over into my opinion of what I write; I’ve never thought the quality of what I write should even be measured against most of magic’s literarati. My keyboard simply takes dictation from my thoughts — as troubling a concept as that may be. The silly cat fights that occasionally erupt in our strange little world hold less interest to me that they ever did, so I hardly see the value in pretending I am magic’s Perez Hilton. (“Not that there’s anything wrong with that…”) It comes down to having something to say.
To demonstrate what I just wrote, I’ll repeat what I wrote in March 2005:
Iíve got something to say, boys,
Iíve got something to say.
Just as soon as I can find a way, boys,
Iíve got something to say.
That’s David Allan Coe. It seems to me that to consider writing, one should have something to say. I’ve been relatively quiet for any number of reasons, but that’s the best one of the bunch. And, as soon as I find something to say, I’ll get to it again.
Maybe I should (re)visit some the 173 odd drafts I have stored here at Casa Escamoteurettes that have never seen the light of day.